


Pin Up

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 04:06:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16865827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: The first time Ben jerks off to the holo, he feels guilty as fuck.





	Pin Up

**Author's Note:**

> With the possible implosion of Tumblr near, I thought I would preserve a couple of stories that were only posted there. This one was posted in response to littleststarfighter's amazing art, specifically [this picture](http://littleststarfighter.tumblr.com/post/142945576017/as-promised-a-ginger-general-and-his-little-hat). (If the link is broken, search for her art. You'll be glad you did!) Posted November 2016.

The first time Ben jerks off to the holo, he feels guilty as fuck. Not just after, but during the act as well. As he touches himself, little tendrils of deep-rooted shame creep into the corners of his mind, spreading like fungus. He can’t help it. He lives in the New Republic, where anyone can get off on anything, except that.

The guilt isn’t enough to ruin his orgasm, or to keep him from coming back. That guy’s not really a First Order officer, Ben assures himself, every time he clicks on the image of the man in the open greatcoat, the Durasteel chain of identitags spread across his hairless chest. He’s a model. When Ben’s bored, sitting in the hangar waiting for the X-wings to come in or listening to his mother discuss plans they’ve been over a dozen times already, he mentally constructs an elaborate story for the man.

He’s probably Coruscanti. Most people are. He got into modelling when he was young, at first to put himself through school. He wanted to be an engineer, but gradually let that idea go when he realized he could make more money in front of a holorecorder. He was chosen to portray the First Order officer because his lips look so good around a dangling cigarette, and because he has the right attitude to pull off the jauntily angled hat without looking like a Life Day party clown. The man plays all kinds of other roles, too, Ben decides. Most of them are more graphic than this, relatively tame, image. Sometimes, he’s a fey Senator begging to be despoiled by an opponent in the Senate Chamber. Other times, he’s a brash Resistance pilot about to head out on a dangerous mission, but not before he bids a memorable good-bye to his faithful best friend and mechanic. These scenarios—or ones like them—must exist, but although he’s looked, hard, Ben has never found an image of this model in any other costume.

Normally, Ben contents himself with gazing at the static image. There is, however, a brief holovid that accompanies it. Living with his mother makes it difficult for him to play it often, but when Ben’s alone in the apartment, he indulges. The model sneers around the cigarette, looking at Ben as though he can see him personally.

“You’re very naughty.” The Imperial accent is perfect. No matter how many times he hears it, it sends a shiver up Ben’s spine and a rush of blood to his cock. “You know what we do with naughty soldiers, don’t you?” It’s standard holoporn dialogue, but it makes Ben’s breath catch in his throat. The man flicks the tauntaun crop in his hand, and Ben has to press down on his balls, hard, to keep from coming at once.

When Poe finds out about Ben’s obsession, Ben wants to die. Actually, first he wants to kill Poe, to make sure no one else hears about it, and then he wants to kill himself, for being foolish enough to lend Poe his comm before triple-checking to make sure he’d cleared it first.

“Hey, no judgment here, buddy,” Poe says, holding up his hands as Ben yanks the comm back, too late. The man in the Fist Order uniform stares back, nearly smiling, as always. “Gotta say, it’s not really my bag, but he is hot.”

“Shut up,” Ben snaps, his face burning. “I’m not…it doesn’t mean that I…”

“'Course not, man.” He slaps Ben on the back. “Sex is sex, right? We can’t choose what turns us on.”

That’s true. But Ben’s not turned on by First Order imagery. He’s skimmed through hundreds, thousands maybe, of holos of other men and women wearing First Order hats and identitags and little else, and none of them spoke to him in any way. This man is what turns him on. The ginger eyebrow and the crooked hat, the sideburns, the freckles dotting his cheek, the mocking almost-smile on his luxurious lips. Ben wants him so badly it hurts.

As pathetic as it is, it doesn’t stop hurting, no matter how much time passes. A year goes by, then two, then three. The Resistance gains ground, then loses it again, then gains it back. Ben dates, off and on, men Leia approves of and more often than not finds for him. They’re handsome and smart and appropriate, but Ben can’t summon enthusiasm for any of them. Still, not everyone needs a partner. He will be happy, he decides, as a single man. He just has to grow up.

To that end, Ben leaves the Resistance and forces himself to find a real job, one that doesn’t involve riding his mother’s rebellious coattails or his father’s creaking old spaceship. He gets his own place, an apartment in the heart of the city. It’s there, as he’s coming in from work one day, that he receives a message from Poe.

 _Evacuated 37 refugees from Cordina Prime_ , it says. Ben blinks. He’s not involved in that world anymore,apart from getting occasional updates from Leia at family dinners and holidays. Now, he’s just a Coruscanti office drone, filing paperwork eight hours a day.

 _Well done_ , Ben types, but before he can send it, another message comes through from Poe. 

_Got someone you’ll want to meet with me._ <

Ben's not sure how to reply. He settles on | _OK?_ With a question mark, in case Poe is under the mistaken impression he’s making sense.

 _Be there in 20_ , Poe writes back. His icon disappears from the screen, preventing any follow-up questions. 

Ben’s apartment isn’t exactly in a state to receive visitors. If it was just Poe, he could live with it, but since he’s bringing an unknown guest, Ben switches on the small housekeeping droid. It clears the floor while Ben takes weeks’ worth of dirty disposable dishes, paper Gargan gumbo cups and Corellian beer bottles from the table and shoves them down the garbage chute, forcing the door shut behind them. A moment later, he’s glad he did.

It’s the man from the holo. Ben would know him anywhere, even if Poe wasn’t standing beside him, beaming with pride, like he’s accomplished something spectacular. The man’s not wearing the First Order uniform, of course. He’s dressed normally, in a brown tunic and black pants tucked into thigh-high brown boots. He’s older than his holo. His face is more lined, but it’s also more freckled, the little dots standing out in the harsh light of the apartment hallway. When he blinks, his eyelashes cast long shadows on his pale skin.

Ben has the urge to slam the door in their faces. He can’t do that. He can’t even move. “This is my friend Ben,” Poe says, grinning. “Like I said, he’s a huge fan of your work.”

“My soft-core pornography, you mean.” The man’s accent is lighter than on the holo, less pronounced but still present. There’s an edge of dry humour to his voice, which plants a grain of hope in Ben. At least he’s not insulted. “I’m sorry you’ve had to make do with just the one,” the man says, wryly. “It was intended for…personal use, but things got out of hand rather quickly.”

“It was…” The nascent hope is ripped out by the roots and Ben’s world begins to crumble. “You’re not a model?”

“I’m a general in the First Order,” the man replies.

Ben is going to be sick. His stomach twists painfully. Bile rises in his throat. Poe just keeps smiling. Ben wonders if he’s finally lost his last shred of sanity. If they both have. “Rather,” the man goes on, “I should say I was a general in the First Order. I was removed from my position some time ago. I’ve been living in a free colony on Cordina Prime for several years.”

“But you…”

“Hux is going to help us,” Poe breaks in. “He’s joining the Rebellion.”

“Let’s not be hasty,” the man—Hux?—replies, but he’s smiling, too, like he and Poe became the best of friends on the four hour journey from Cordina Prime. Knowing Poe, Ben thinks, they probably did. “Although I certainly harbour no love for the traitorous bastards who rose against me, then took my colony as well.”

“But that’s a story for another time, right?” Poe turns to look at Ben. “Hux hasn’t had a good meal in years. I told him you know all the best places in town.”

“I…” Ben has no idea how to finish the sentence, so he lets it trail off.

“Great!” Poe claps his hands together. “Have fun, guys! I won’t wait up!”

“Poe!” Ben calls, but Poe ignores him. He all but runs down the hallway and through the door to the stairwell without looking back

“I’m sorry,” Ben says, once he and Hux are alone. That doesn’t begin to cover it.

Hux sighs. “Mr. Solo…Ben?” Ben nods. “The person in that holo doesn’t exist. He never existed, to be honest. It was a game to impress a man. But I haven’t had a man to impress in a very long time.” His voice is confident, assured. It’s the voice of a leader, but when Ben looks over, he sees a deep red blush across Hux’s cheeks. 

Ben licks his lips. “I…” He tries again, but that doesn’t pan out any better than last time. He squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath. “What kind of food are you looking for?” 

Hux doesn’t hesitate. “Roba steak.”

Ben nods. “I know just the place.”

***

Ben spent a lot of time–years–imagining what it would be like to have sex with Hux. He hadn’t spent much time imaging what it would be like to date him. That, as it turns out, was a missed opportunity.

Hux is handsome, of course, but he’s also smart, brilliantly so, and devastatingly witty. He makes Ben laugh in a way he hasn’t in years. Ever, maybe. He eats like a starving Wookie—or, Ben supposes, like a man who hasn’t had a good meal for a long time—and afterward, buys a pack of cigarettes from the Twi'lek with the tray. She lights one for him, bending unnecessarily low over the table to do so.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Hux asks, belatedly, puffing on the cigarette. Ben shakes his head. “Good.” He sounds like he means it, like Ben’s opinion matters to him.

Encouraged, Ben says, “The man you made the holo for…” He trails off, embarrassed. It’s most definitely none of his business, but Hux smiles.

“He was a shit,” he says, concisely. “And I was a fool. But it makes me happy to know someone got some joy out of the bloody thing. Honestly, it does.” He catches Ben’s eye. Ben knocks his water glass into his own lap. 

“Shit!” Instantly humiliated, Ben wants to die, right then and there. Hux just puffs on his cigarette as the waiter hurries over to dab at Ben with napkins. 

Ben pays for the meal.

“I’m sorry,” Hux says, “I haven’t got anything in the way of Republican credits.”

“I don’t mind.” Ben means it. In a way, it’s the least he can do.

“I hate being in debt, though,” Hux goes on. “So you must let me get the next one.”

 _The next one._ Ben nods, the very idea sending a thrill of excitement up his spine.

A transport pod takes them both back to Ben’s apartment. “I don’t know if Poe’s arranged somewhere for you to stay,” Ben says as they get out, awkwardness creeping up again.

“Your friend Poe is a very thoughtful man,” Hux says, as if that’s a reply. “When I told him I hadn’t eaten a good meal in ever so long, he was quick to recommend you to me. And when I mentioned it had been just as long since I had a good fuck…” He looks meaningfully at Ben.

This can’t be real. This can’t be Ben’s life. Any moment now, he’s going to wake up and realize it’s a dream, or an hallucination, or that he’s actually passed out on a table at Maz’s with his father and Chewie arguing about shipments or the Guavian Death Gang over top of him. “I…” Ben begins. He’s not sure where to go from there. Fortunately, Hux seems to have an idea. He steps forward and kisses him, right there on the street. 

Sex with Hux is nothing like Ben pictured it would be. It’s far better. Even at his most creative, Ben never thought to envision the way Hux whimpers when Ben moves inside him, the way he nips at Ben’s earlobe when he comes, the way he winds his arms around Ben afterward, as if he never wants to let go. The man in the holo was a fantasy, and Ben loved it. The reality makes Ben cry. He sniffs, pathetically, tears running down his cheeks when he thinks of the incredible luck that brought them together, and of how much he owes Poe Dameron. Ben’s going to kiss Poe, he decides, after he kills him for taking a gamble like this.

“It’s all right,” Hux murmurs, soothing. Ben tries to hide his face, to keep Hux from seeing the tears, but Hux is too quick. He rests his post-coital cigarette on a crumb-filled saucer beside the bed and pulls Ben in close, tucking him into his side. A hand strokes Ben’s hair. “You don’t have to be ashamed, Ben.”

The word sends a jolt through Ben. _No_ , he thinks. He turns a little, pressing his lips against Hux’s chest. Although he is a civilian now, Hux still wears his identitags. The metal is cool against Ben’s flushed skin. Hux nudges him upward, to his mouth, and they kiss again. Hux tastes like Roba steak and tobacco, a combination Ben has never tried but to which he is immediately addicted. “I’m not ashamed,” Ben says aloud. It’s suddenly very important that Hux know that. “Not at all.” Never again, he adds, silently. He plants a gentle kiss on Hux’s slim, freckled shoulder and lies down beside him, his ear over Hux’s thudding heart.


End file.
